


Of Dreams and Better Days

by aramisinaskirt (SilverMillennium_QueenNeptune)



Series: Musketeer March 2021 [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Athos | Comte de la Fère Angst, Broody Athos | Comte de la Fère, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Male Friendship, Musketeer March 2021, Prompt Fill, Sad Athos | Comte de la Fère, Sleep, Supportive d'Artagnan, Tumblr Prompt, implied nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMillennium_QueenNeptune/pseuds/aramisinaskirt
Summary: Athos is haunted by dreams of his past with the woman Milady had been when he met her. In desperation and sleep deprivation he goes to get a drink and stumbles upon d'Artagnan.  They discuss Milady and their respective feelings toward her as d'Artagnan tries to convince Athos that sleep is his friend.
Relationships: Athos | Comte de la Fère/Milady Clarick de Winter, Minor or Background Relationship(s), d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère
Series: Musketeer March 2021 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190600
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Of Dreams and Better Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [under_my_blue_umbrella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_my_blue_umbrella/gifts), [privateerwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/privateerwrites/gifts).



At the end of a long day, all Athos wanted to do was to crawl into bed. It had been days—no, perhaps weeks—since he had been able to close his eyes without being transported into a world of nightmares. They were vivid, all remnants of his past. He could not escape the chaos of his mind. He was instantly reminded that this was why he drank. Perhaps, a little wine would aid him. It wasn’t likely to do that much harm; he had relied on such things ever since he took up the soldier’s call.

What he had not been expecting was to run into a certain Gascon the moment he set foot inside the tavern. It baffled him to see D’Artagnan here at such a late hour, when he should have been at the home of Madame Bonacieux. Had something happened to prevent him from remaining there as her lodger? He weighed his options before approaching his comrade; he was indeed exhausted, and the last thing he needed was to lend an ear to a struggling young friend with lady troubles. Not tonight. Not when he wanted to forget his own and drown his sorrow. Against his better judgment, Athos found his voice.

“Why so downcast, D’Artagnan? Come. Sit with me a while.”

“You mean it?”

“I do. Some wine, perhaps? A bit of banter to take your mind off things? You look troubled.” D’Artagnan could not bear to look Athos in the eye. There were terrible truths he had yet to admit to his comrade. These revelations would change their entire relationship, or so D’Artagnan feared. That he had not been immune to the wiles of Athos’ nemesis and former love, Milady De Winter, was perhaps the deepest wound he might inflict on Athos; not only a physical one, but one that carried mental and emotional weight besides. He did not want to speak of such things, not here. Not tonight, when Athos appeared as though he could be knocked over by a feather. This, whatever it was, was none of his concern and yet the respect he held for his comrade was greater than any decorum allowed.

Athos looked worn and haggard. Neither of the men had gotten a decent night’s sleep in quite some time. He cast his friend a weary smile, and then offered a solemn toast to better days, which the Gascon returned heartily. They drank in silence for some time. At length, D’Artagnan found the means to voice his burning question.

“Athos?”

“Hm?”

“How does sleep find you these days? Since you— well, since—?”

“Out with it, D’Artagnan. I won’t be cross with you for asking.”

“Since you condemned Milady to hang for her crimes. . .?” Athos nearly laughed; if it had not been a serious question, and he knew that it was or his friend would not have spoken it aloud, he might’ve brushed it aside with humor.

_I don’t sleep because I did not condemn Anne to hang. Not fully. Even when it was done I couldn’t carry it out_., he mused, but what came out was,

“It finds me when and where it can. Anne was a different woman then. Or at least I like to believe she was. She—the woman I loved— is nothing more than a spectre now. She’s been replaced by that—that—demon, chameleon, whatever she truly is.”

“What was she like? What made you fall in love with her?”

“The same thing, I expect, that keeps us both sleepless now. The thing that lured you right into her trap when you met her. She’s intelligent, and cunning. I am convinced the woman could make any man desperate to follow her. The woman you met and the one I loved. . . Milady may wear my Anne’s face, but she does not possess any of the qualities of her former self that made me want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Do you dream of her? Ache for her?”

_Constantly._

“D’Artagnan, let me explain it to you this way. It is like your relationship with Madame Bonacieux.”

“You know about. . .”

“Constance is an old friend who is trapped in a loveless marriage. Bonacieux is good to her, still, in the sense that he provides for her and makes sure she has what she needs to stay alive. Then there’s you. You’re young and handsome and you swept her off of her feet. It was easy to tell she’d taken you as a lover. With her, you dream. Better days seem possible. In the beginning, before she betrayed me. . . That was how I felt about the woman you know as Milady de Winter. But she will always be Anne to me. I’m doomed to be haunted by the woman that she was, who made me love her, for the rest of my days.”

“That’s why you can’t sleep? Because you’re haunted?”

“Because a part of me still believes I wronged her. But until the hellion who replaced my Anne is dead, there will be no peace for me. No sleep, no rest. I don’t deserve it.” Athos noticed the mist come over D’Artagnan’s features; a sympathy he did not deserve.

“Go. Leave me and return to Madame Bonacieux. She’s probably waiting for you. I wish you a rest filled with many dreams of better days ahead. Mine are far behind me.”

“Athos, please. Let me help you. Let someone help you. You can move on from what Anne did to you. I won’t make excuses for you.”

“I can’t. I’ll sleep when her ghost is finally laid to rest. If I’d had the courage it would have been done long ago. But that desire is the stuff of dreams and better days. Ones I hope we both see, for your sake.”

“So do I, my friend. Believe me, so do I.” Offering his arm around his companion’s shoulder, D’Artagnan led Athos through the darkened streets, making sure he was safe in his own bed. There he could rest and dream of the better days for which he so desperately longed. With any luck, they would begin at dawn.


End file.
